


Little One

by whispersofafangirl



Series: Thranduil/Reader [1]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, Thranduil - Fandom
Genre: Elf/Human Relationship(s), F/M, Fluff, Kissing, Pet Names, Reader-Insert, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-22
Updated: 2014-01-22
Packaged: 2018-01-09 16:14:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1148046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whispersofafangirl/pseuds/whispersofafangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I recieved a request for a PWP Thranduil/Reader. It ended up having a little plot and some fluff too. </p><p>Thranduil's patrols save you from death in the forest and Thranduil helps with the recovery process.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little One

Drifting in and out of consciousness, you realize you are in a strange room. You suffer from a raging fever and your vision is blurred. Everything hurts but you don't understand why. You struggle against a woman who is running a wet cloth over your arm. 

"Please relax," she whispers. "I'm here to help you."

When she is done, she helps you sit up in the bed and puts a cup to your lips. "Drink," she encourages you. "It will help the fever and pain but you must drink the entire cup."

You don't have the strength to fight it and drink the cup, gulping it down out of extreme thirst. Sleep overtakes you. 

Time passes. She makes you drink the tea every morning and every night. You sleep for days, unaware of where you are or what is wrong. 

"Will she survive?" a deep voice asks. You struggle to wake up so you can see who it is.

You're aware that he is close to the bed. His robe rustles against the thin blanket that covers your body. You struggle to open your eyes, just opening them enough to see an elaborate crown on top of silky, blond hair. "Shhhh," he says. "Do not struggle so, little one." He touches your hand to calm you. 

The healer starts to talk to him but he doesn't stop touching your hand. You hear them talk for a few minutes in a language you cannot understand then he squeezes your hand. "When you are well, we shall talk, little one," he says, almost in a whisper. 

Then he is gone. 

Days later, you are well enough to get out of bed and sit at a small table that is by a window, giving you a view of the forest that almost claimed your life. You know where you are and while grateful for the help the Elves have given you, you are unsure of your future. 

The healer comes but twice a day now and there is a young elven woman that is ordered to help you with your needs. One afternoon, she arrives with a dress and looks at you nervously. "The healer has informed me that you have been deemed well enough to go to the King and answer any questions he has for you. It is in your best interest to be honest with him," she says. "Allow me to fix your hair."

You're nervous. You heard rumors while growing up that the Elven King would execute any human trespassers, that he would torture them in many unspeakable ways. He was demonized in every story that was told about him, especially when trade would get strained between the Elves and Lake-town. 

"Stop trembling," she fusses as she finishes the last braid in your hair. She steps back to look at her handiwork and nods with approval. "Much better. Now, I shall walk you there."

You want to ask her what to do when you see him, if there was some sort of ceremonial greeting you must preform so you do not insult him. You have so many questions running through your head but no way of knowing what fate awaits you. 

She stops just shy of the throne area and looks at you. You can see the nervousness in her eyes as she glances over to it. "Be respectful and honest," she says before stepping away and pointing to the area. 

You're trembling more now. Perhaps he would be lenient and allow you to try and make your way back to Lake-town. 

He's talking to an advisor and looks over at you as you enter. He ends the conversation with the advisor abruptly and takes a few steps towards you. 

The only thing you think you should do is curtsy to him, as you would to your own king. You can't see the slight smile on his lips because as you look up at him, he looks quite serious and almost stern. 

"I shall keep my questions brief," he says, still looking you over. "Was it your intention to die in the forest?" he asks. "There have been a few humans that use the forest as a poor method of suicide."

"No," you say, your voice shaking. "I was being chased, Sire. A group of men started to follow me on my way to Lake-town" The memories start flooding back. You stood at the entrance of the forest choosing between the group of men, four of them on horseback. How you ever escaped, you'll never know as they looked like they were going to eat you alive. "I foolishly thought that I could find refuge in the forest until they left. Sire, I had no intention of trespassing or inconveniencing you in any way. Please, I beg for your forgiveness."

He raises an eyebrow at your plead. "What is it that you have heard we do with trespassers?"

You fall to your knees in a panic. Your head begins to throb and you get dizzy from the strain. "You torture them, throw them back into the forest to die." Tears roll down your cheek as your eyes fixate on the floor below you. 

He walks closer to you and squats down so he can touch your shoulder. You look at his fine robes spilling out on the floor. "Little one, do not despair so," he whispers. His voice is so smooth and soothing to your ears. There is a hypnotic calmness to it that slows your tears. "I have no intention of killing you."

His finger finds your chin, wet from the tears and tilts your head up. "You are still weak from your experience. Please stay until you are well enough to move on and then, I will send the patrol with you so you can reach your destination safely."

You can't stop looking into his brilliant blue eyes. "Thank you, Sire," you say, your voice weak and cracked. 

"There," he says, his finger brushing the tears from your left cheek away. "No more tears and worries. Stay and rest, I believe the healer thought you were ready to talk but I believe that she was wrong."

You try to stand but soon, the strain from your emotions was too much and you succumb by fainting in front of him. 

You awaken to his voice. This time, it is angry and impatient. You strain to open your eyes and you can see his silhouette by the door, yelling at the healer in Elven. You try to raise yourself up out of the bed but he crosses the room quickly and nudges you back down. "Shhh, stay still. You are in my chambers for it was closer than your room. Sleep."

He touches your cheek, caressing it softly before leaving your side again to fuss at the healer. You pass out again from the emotional strain of it all. 

The room was bright with morning light when you finally opened your eyes. A new healer tends to you, asking you how you are. 

You look around the grand room, confused as to why you are there. "Why am I here?"

"The King ordered it. He is concerned of your condition and thought it was prudent for you to be nearby. This is a room connected to his private chambers. We moved you here last night."

"I...thought that he would put me to death," you whisper, scared that he would overhear you. 

"Goodness no," the healer says. "What did that girl tell you? Silly servants like to play with the minds of outsiders." The healer pushes a cup of tea towards you. "Drink, it will help with you head and send you into a pleasurable slumber."

You hesitate but then sip it, finding it delicious and comforting unlike the other tea that had tasted of bark and pine needles. 

You sleep and dream lovely dreams for a day, until his voice nudges you awake. 

"Little one," he whispers. "Why do you smile so?"

You blink, looking up at him. He is without his crown this time. His white-gold hair simply flowing over his shoulder. 

"The tea has given you beautiful dreams, has it not? What is it that you were dreaming? You were smiling."

"I was dreaming of spring. The smell of flowers and a long walk through a garden so beautiful," you say. "The smell of lilacs and roses filling the air and birds chirping their happiness.. and you."

Your cheeks blush with the realization of what had happened in the dream. You were sprawled out in lush grass with Thranduil leaning over top of you, brushing your lips with the softest of kisses. 

"Oh? of me? Why do you blush so?" he asks. He sees the hesitation on your face, how you look away from him. He's looking at you quite seriously now, waiting for your response. 

You force yourself to look into his eyes. "I'm sorry, Sire. I do not believe this is something you would care to know. It is silly and inappropriate."

"I shall determine what is inappropriate," he says sternly. "When King Thranduil asks you a question, he expects a prompt and truthful answer. Do not play games with me, little one. Look me in the eyes in tell me what it was you were dreaming of."

You swallow hard. His assertion of authority simultaneously thrills and terrifies you. You finally look up at him, his eyes soft on your face but the rest of his face taut with seriousness. 

"We were kissing," you say simply, not wanting to elaborate but hoping that he would not press you. 

"How so?" he asks, his voice still stern and demanding. 

"In the lush grass," you say. 

"I did not ask where. I asked how," he corrects you. 

You wish his stony glare would soften just enough so that you could say it and not fear the repercussions that may come. "It was simply a gentle kiss, Sire," you say. "I promise it was nothing more. Nothing lewd."

He raises an eyebrow at you. "If I hadn't awakened you, would have it turned into more?"

"I do not know," you lie. You had wanted much more in the dream. You want more right now. Your eyes glance down to his pursed lips.

He sees you trying to deceive him. "I thought I told you that you cannot lie to me," he says. "Do not play games with me." 

"I think if you had not awakened me that perhaps there could have been more. But Sire, I will never know with certainty," you plead. 

"Then I shall see for myself," he says vaguely. 

You wonder for a brief moment if there is some truth-telling tea that he will force you to drink but instead he scoops you up out of bed and begins to carry you. 

"Sire, if I have angered you," you start to plead. 

"Silence," he orders. 

You expect him to carry you to a guard or perhaps to the dungeon himself but instead he walks through his own chamber then outside to the adjacent garden. He carries you through an archway covered with ivy and climbing roses and then into a private walled area. 

There are flowers blooming there that you have never seen before, creating a rich, fragrance-filled atmosphere. Sunlight pours through the large tree canopy, creating streams of warm light. Your breath hitches as he leans down and lays you in the lush grass, so soft against you that it feels like a perfect bed. 

He continues to look sullen and annoyed. He's hovering over you, propped up on an elbow. You aren't sure what to expect. "This is the prettiest garden I have ever seen," you say to try to distract. 

"My private gardens. I do not come here often," he says, sounding bored. 

"Thank you for showing me," you say quietly. 

He focuses on you again but you try to keep looking around, avoiding his intense gaze. "Do not avoid my gaze, little one," he says. "I need to know that you do not fear me."

Ah, but you did fear him. Or rather was intimidated by his demeanor. You finally glance up, looking into his icy blue eyes with hope that you could hide your fear. 

He doesn't seem satisfied. "You've been here over a month, little one. I've come to your room several times with no intention of hurting you but to check on you," he says, his voice calm and controlled. "If I had wanted to hurt you, I could have done it long ago. So, I must ask that you stop fearing me."

"My apologies, Sire," you reply, knowing he has a point. "Thank you for saving me and for making sure that I received the proper treatment."

His face relaxes, pleased to hear your apology. "It was the very least I could do. When they brought you in, you looked like a little, wounded robin. Black and purple bruises were painted over your body," he said, picking up your hand. A faded purple blotch still remains by your wrist. "They still linger, waiting for you to completely heal," he says as he runs his slender finger over the bruise as if he was trying to magically get rid of it. 

Your heart pounds as he touches you and you are certain he can hear it as he looks back into your eyes again as if measuring whether or not you are fearful or feeling something entirely different than fear. You're not even sure which it is anymore. 

"Your hair was matted with dried blood, no doubt from slipping on a moss-covered rock as you tried to escape the forest. How fragile you are, little one," he says, lingering on the last sentence as if he was awed by your frailty. "The guardsmen wagered you would be dead by morning. I took it as a personal challenge to make certain that would not happen," he says.

He turns his attention to your forehead and his long finger traces a line along your hairline. "The healer doubted a human could survive but you have a strength within you that surprised them all but not me." He brushes stray hairs away from your cheek then strokes the length of your neck down to your shoulder. 

You are frozen, not with fear of him but of not understanding where this was going. His obvious interest in you felt odd, almost as if he considered you a new pet. You watch as his gaze drops to the neckline of your simple night gown. The ends of his golden hair brush against your cheek. 

You tentatively reach up, brushing the hair strands back behind his ear with care not to overstep the invisible boundaries that you still did not understand. He turns to look back up at you, his bright eyes searching yours. You pull your hand away, afraid you've overstepped by touching him. 

Without a word, he leans down, his breath hot on your cheek. His lips brush against your face for a split second. He doesn't pull away so you are certain he is determining just what exactly he wants to do and if you will allow him. "Little one, I cannot explain why I feel this way," he confesses. "I feel so drawn to you."

You want him to kiss you. No. You need him to kiss you. "Kiss me," you whisper so softly, you are unsure if he has heard you. 

He tilts his head just enough that you can now feel his breath on your lips. It feels like forever until he finally gives you what you want. His lips. 

He captures your lips with his so gently at first, that it takes your breath away. No man had ever exhibited such care and tenderness towards you before. This kiss was identical to the dream.

He set the tempo; you happily let him lead the way. As he felt you moan against his lips, he opened his mouth so you could fully taste and enjoy each other. The kiss suddenly becomes heated, possessive, and demanding. He nips at your bottom lip playfully and pulls away until you reach for him again, hungry for more. 

He flicks his tongue against your earlobe, "I do not want this to be too much for you, little one," he says out of concern. 

You caress his cheek with your fingertip, "Sire, it is not too much."

"Thranduil," he says while his lips brush over your neck. "Say it."

"Thranduil," you moan out as he kisses just above your pounding hear. You open your eyes and see him glancing up at you with anticipation. 

He smirks before nipping the top of your nightgown. "I cannot decide if I should carry you back into my chamber or if I should have you right here in the grass. What do you want, Little One?"

"Grass or bed, it does not matter," you answer with a smile. 

Thranduil groaned at your willingness to do whatever pleased him. "The grass it is," he announces. "Why waste time moving again?"

He sits up and unpins his robe. He spreads it out over the grass and summons you to move onto it. You kneel down on it as he pulls his shirt over his head. His chest was broad, slender yet muscular and by now, you were shamelessly staring at it. 

You warm with desire to touch every inch of him, to kiss, and please him in as many ways as you can because you know he will do the same for you. You knew he wouldn't rush or fumble. Every touch, kiss, and movement would be slow and deliberate. 

He leans over, both of you still kneeling on the robe. "Little one," he murmurs as he reaches for the hem of your night gown and lifts it over your head. You knew you were naked underneath but yet shyness comes over you as you noticed some of the bruises and cuts marking your skin. You feel damaged and imperfect compared to his flawlessness. 

"Do not feel that way," he admonishes you, recognizing the shame in your eyes. "I have every intention of kissing and healing each and every bruise so that you can feel whole again."

You don't question why he would do such a caring thing. Your hand reaches for him, touching the pale skin of his shoulder, feeling the hardness of the muscle just below the skin. He brings your hand to his mouth, kissing it, before he stands up to remove the rest of his clothes. 

Your eyes dart away, bashful again which makes him chuckle. "Humans and their issues with nudity," he comments, teasing you. You look up, specifically to see him smile and laugh because of how rare it is to see him relaxed. "There, now we are both naked in the glorious sunlight," he says before kneeling down in front of you. 

With a quick peek, you can see that he is just as excited as you. A sense of bravery comes up through you so you reach out, running your hand up his thigh and to his abs, avoiding and teasing him along the way. 

He squirms until he can no longer take it, so he helps you back down to the ground. His naked body presses against you as he kisses your lips again. You shiver as you feel his hard cock press against your leg. 

His hand caresses your nipple, teasing it with soft pinches. Moans now fill the garden walls as you forget any sense of propriety. His lips soon find your hard nipple, sucking on it then lapping at it with his hot tongue. You grab for his back, digging your nails into his skin. 

A warm, soft hand slides down to your hip then to your inner thigh. He can feel the dampness and heat there which makes him moan. "Oh," he groans as his fingers begin to explore. 

You spread your legs, encouraging him. He relentlessly teases you, taking his time before he gives in to your pleas. "Please," you beg. "Stop teasing me."

He smirks at you, "Little one, you are so beautiful. Slick with desire and need," he says as he runs a finger through your folds until he applies just the right amount of pressure on your clit. "So, so needy," he moans as he as he slips his finger into you. 

You buck your hips up, forcing him deep inside you. "Thranduil," you purr, leaning up to kiss him. "Please."

He stopped teasing and eased you back down to the ground. "Little one, I am as anxious as you," he says, touching your cheek. "I will not be rushed. Do you not want to savor each kiss, every touch?"

"Yes," you reply, breathlessly. 

He nods, pleased with your answer. He finds your clit again with his finger, never breaking eye-contact with you. His index finger moved achingly slow at first until he felt your body tense and squirm underneath him. 

Your eyes snap shut as the tension begins to build. Little moans fill the garden again as your release builds up. "Please don't stop," you beg, worried that he'll tease you again. You gasp as your orgasm bursts through your body, causing you to grip the grass. 

Your breath is ragged as Thranduil leans down and kisses each of your hardened nipples then down to your belly button. "Let's do that again," he says as if it was a game. "This time I shall like to taste you as you reach your release."

His declaration makes you gasp with anticipation. He torments you by running his mouth and tongue everywhere but where you need them to be. You don't beg this time, instead patiently try to wait for him. 

With surprising quickness, he finds your clit with his tongue and laps at it with a slow persistence. Two of his nimble fingers enter you, twisting and thrusting with every lap of his hot tongue. The pleasure is so intense, you grab for his head and push him tighter against you. "Oh god," you moan loudly. A hot burst of pleasure explodes within you, leaving you gasping and moaning as he slows the tempo down. 

Your back is still arched as he hovers over you. Thranduil licks his lips and offers you his fingers. You suck on them, cleaning them for him. "Oh little one, such a naughty girl" he groans, as you suck on his fingers. "I shall take you now for I can no longer wait."

You bend your knees and spread yourself open for him. His eyes flick down to your wet entrance and then back up your eyes. He is holding his massive cock in his hand, stroking it against the wetness of your lips. Slowly he leans down and enters you, giving you time to adjust. 

You wrap your legs around him, pulling him in completely. As he moves, you thrust with him, eager for more. His thrusting is slow and deliberate. He would not be rushed. Thranduil nuzzles his lips against your neck, his breath hot and wet. Every sound he makes, every moan hits your neck and makes you shiver with pleasure. 

An orgasm builds up again, making you buck your hips up. "Harder," you plead, desperate for another release. He leans up, staring into your eyes and gives you exactly what you want. You can't keep your eyes open anymore. They shut as your body clenches around him, wetting his cock even more. He groans loudly as you scream with pleasure.

He pumps two more times, hard and fast. He yells out in Elven as his cock pulses deep inside you as he comes. Thranduil takes you in his arms, holding you as you both catch your breath. "My little one," he whispers before kissing your neck. 

Minutes go by and you remain curled up together. Thranduil quietly pulls you closer and urges you to nap a little in the remaining sunlight. You drift off with his hands protectively around you, spooning naked on his robe. 

It is dusk as he stirs you awake. "Little one, we must go in. I'm afraid I have duties to attend to and you should rest more. I do not want to be the cause of any relapse," he says. He stands up, still naked and carries you back into bed and making sure you are covered and warm. "Sleep," he whispers. "I will check on you later."

**Author's Note:**

> Please know that I am in no way a Tolkien/Tranduil expert. This is simply a fun little smutty story I wrote for some friends that does not involve any cannon.


End file.
